


Sherlock Holmes is a Sex God

by wendymarlowe



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Gods & Goddesses, Fluff, M/M, Magical Realism, Paranormal, Sherlock Holmes is a sex god
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-08
Updated: 2014-11-08
Packaged: 2018-02-24 14:52:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2585405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wendymarlowe/pseuds/wendymarlowe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“So what you’re telling me,” John said slowly, “is that you consider yourself a sex god.”  He couldn’t decide whether it sounded completely ludicrous or completely plausible.</p><p>Sherlock threw his head back against the top sofa cushions and stared at the ceiling in familiar annoyance.  “<i>Lust</i>, not sex, John, and I’m just a demigod.  As far as I’ve been able to tell.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sherlock Holmes is a Sex God

**Author's Note:**

> Written for http://sherlockbbc-fic.livejournal.com/22393.html?thread=132778873#t132778873 - which is my own prompt, but I couldn't get it out of my head :-)

“So what you’re telling me,” John said slowly, “is that you consider yourself a sex god.” He couldn’t decide whether it sounded completely ludicrous or completely plausible.

Sherlock threw his head back against the top sofa cushions and stared at the ceiling in familiar annoyance. “ _Lust_ , not sex, John, and I’m just a demigod. As far as I’ve been able to tell.”

John nodded as if this all made perfect sense. “Right - so what does this have to do with Jim Moriarty?”

“I was getting to that,” Sherlock snapped. “I generally abstain as much as possible, but every once in a while the distraction becomes too great and I seek out a partner.”

John tried to imagine Sherlock being charming long enough to pull someone at a bar. Taking them home and shagging their brains out. Keeping his mouth shut long enough to get one over before deducing their entire life story and sending them home in a snit. “Yeah, not seeing it.”

“I haven’t indulged since I met you.”

“I just . . .” John scrubbed his hand over his face and sighed. “Not that you’re not attractive enough, I suppose, but I can’t picture you holding your tongue long enough to get someone into bed, unless it was for a case. Maybe. You usually don’t count ‘tact’ high on your list of virtues.”

“I usually don’t have to.” Sherlock shot John a sidelong glance. “All it takes is a kiss, and that’s easy enough to initiate in public.”

“So . . . Moriarty?”

“Never shook it off.” Sherlock grimaced. “I’m nearly certain he was the bloke I slept with last, although that was at least a decade ago. He was at uni at the time. His musculature has changed a lot, but the persistence is telling. Most of my former partners get over it within five or six years, but he’s different. I think he’s spent this entire time plotting.”

“You’re serious about this.” John knew Sherlock was an expert liar, of course, but he couldn’t read any traces of prevarication on Sherlock’s face. “You know this is veering pretty far away from the scientific and into the paranormal, right?”

“Don’t think I didn’t wrestle with that myself,” Sherlock retorted. “You think I want this? At least Mycroft gets to be Dominion - he just builds his own little empire and nobody tries to stop him. Being Lust seems to invite all sorts of unwanted attention, though, and I’d avoid sex entirely if I could.”

“But you can’t?”

“Not without consequences.”

John decided to leave the thought of _consequences_ alone for now. “Go back to the demigod thing - you said you _think_ you’re a demigod? How’s that work?”

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “It doesn’t come with an instruction manual - I just _know_ about myself each new lifetime. I can remember bits and pieces of past bodies I’ve been in, over the years. The knowledge doesn’t come with context, though, so I’m left trying to sort things out over and over again. I finally got prepared in the 1800s and started leaving clues for my future incarnations so I wouldn’t have to start from scratch every time. My last body was an American schoolteacher, and before that I was an Italian mercenary. I don’t know how far back it goes.”

“And Mycroft is a demi-god too?”

“Yes - I’ve had an irritating, overbearing older sibling for centuries. Not always the same age difference, and our genders change, but he’s always _lurking._ ”

“Right.” John looked away. Was this Sherlock’s idea of a prank, or did he actually believe himself to be immortal? He certainly had what seemed to be superhuman senses sometimes, with all the details he observed, but it was possible Moriarty was getting to him. That or the near-constant lack of sleep Sherlock seemed to think was necessary when he really wanted to focus on something. This seemed over-the-top even for Sherlock, though.

 _Think._ Other than this latest aberration, Sherlock was very much a disciple of logic. If John could find a logical way to disprove the whole paranormal thing-

“Got it,” John said aloud. “Sherlock, kiss me.”

Sherlock froze.

“You said all it takes is a kiss and then everyone wants to drag you off to bed, right? Well I’m straight. And although I do love you, you mad bastard - yes, I mean it - I’m not attracted to you like that. So kiss me and then we’ll put this theory behind us and keep going, yeah?”

Sherlock’s eyes got wide. “I’m afraid,” he finally whispered after several seconds of tense silence.

The admission caught John by surprise.

“I don’t want to . . .” Sherlock closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “I like this, John. What we have. I don’t want to lose you.”

“You’re not going to lose me. You’re going to kiss me and I’ll kiss you back and then we’ll both laugh awkwardly and be back to exactly where we are now.” John shifted closer on the sofa, until his hip was pressed up against Sherlock’s and he could cup that striking cheekbone in his palm. “Come on, do it,” he whispered.

Sherlock hesitated just a second longer, then turned his head the rest of the way and pressed his lips to John’s.

John didn’t know what exactly he had been expecting, but this was better. It eclipsed his previous experiences with women, for sure. Sherlock’s lips were firm and warm, sliding over his own with just the right amount of pressure. Half the thrum in John’s veins was probably from the fact that he was kissing _Sherlock_ \- physical attraction or not, it was amazing to be this close to him, to be allowed this privilege. _He’s really bloody good at this._

Sherlock shifted slightly, parted his lips, and the kiss got unbelievably hotter. John couldn’t resist the chance to slip his tongue inside Sherlock’s mouth, just a bit, just to see . . . Sherlock moaned, soft and low, and his fingers spasmed against the nape of John’s neck. _Gorgeous._ John pressed the advantage, coaxing Sherlock’s reactions out of him one at a time, little shivers and groans and twitches and sighs, and it was _glorious._ He finished the kiss with one last, lingering caress, then sat back and watched Sherlock’s face as he struggled to recover himself.

“Oh,” Sherlock said quietly.

“Good?” John asked.

Sherlock nodded, his eyes downcast. “Good,” he echoed.

“You know, you are really good at that. I see why Moriarty would want more.” John leaned back against the sofa cushions, putting a bit of space between their bodies. “I really wouldn’t have guessed - well, it’s not like you’ve been getting a leg over all that often since I’ve been around, I suppose. Has he tried to contact you about it? Not recently, obviously, but before, when- what?”

Sherlock was staring at him like he’d grown another head.

“You’re not . . . you’re not trying to fuck me,” he said.

And now it was John’s turn to boggle. “Yeah, because I’m straight, remember? Pretty sure one kiss doesn’t mean I’m bi.”

“That’s not-” Sherlock drew in a deep breath. “Every other time I’ve kissed someone, they’re trying to force me into bed or up against a wall somewhere. Every single time. We kiss, then we fuck - that’s how it goes.”

“Well I don’t feel like that about you,” John said. “I mean, yeah, I’d follow you pretty much anywhere, you know that. But I’m not interested in your dick.”

Sherlock’s face lit up at that - _the first time anyone’s been excited about me_ not _wanting sex with them_ , John thought. Aloud, he said, “Maybe it’s because I actually know you?”

“I’ve fucked people I knew before.”

“Maybe because I already love you, then. In a not-having-sex way.”

“Everyone claims they love me, right before they have a meltdown about me not fucking them often enough.”

“Maybe it’s because you love me, then,” John said quietly.

Sherlock froze at that. His face was always so expressive when he was making mental connections - John could practically see him storming through his mind palace, throwing doors open and sprinting down corridors to collect valid bits of data.

“I do,” Sherlock said after a long moment of silence. His voice was full of wonder. “I do love you, John Watson. And it’s not about sex. It’s . . . I want you with me. Always. Forever. Not the way my former partners wanted me, just at their convenience, but I want to be near you and make you smile and hear you call me brilliant over and over again.”

“I love you too, you berk,” John said.

Sherlock grabbed John’s hand suddenly, in a surprisingly strong grip. “I know we probably only have this lifetime, this body, but . . . stay with me?”

John couldn’t suppress his smile. “Where else do you expect me to go? Of course I will.” He squeezed Sherlock’s fingers. “I promise.”


End file.
